


A common name

by Ernmark (M_Moonshade)



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: AU in which Arum and Rilla already knew each other, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2018-11-17 10:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11273304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/Ernmark
Summary: Rilla lives at the edge of the Citadel and ventures into the jungle on a daily basis; it's only natural that she would know a few of the monsters who live there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> eternalgirlscout asked:  
> would you consider writing rilla/damien/arum fic? they're all I've been thinking about

The herbalist did say she would be happy to help if he ever needed it– but he doesn’t _need_ her help.

It isn’t as though Lord Arum can’t bandage his own arm– he’s more than capable of that. It isn’t as though a decent scar would damage his reputation among the other monsters, either. Still, the thought of it healing all puckered and jagged is irritating; it would clash with his whole aesthetic. And besides, nothing is as tiresome as fighting off infection.

Which is all to say that he doesn’t need the herbalist’s help in the slightest, but he goes anyway out of sheer convenience.

The poultice she applies to his arm is expertly crafted, and the herbs are fresh and potent– he would know, considering that he helped her cultivate some of them. But as she bandages the wound, something occurs to him.

“Amaryllis?”

“Hm?” 

“Your… friend. The one who intends to marry you. What did you say his name was?”

“You mean Damien?”

“Yes. That one. Would you say that’s an unusual name?”

She rolls her eyes. “I only wish it was. It seems like half the parents in the Citadel want to name their children after the Three Brothers. There are six Damiens in the guard alone. Trying to look for him when he’s in the keep is impossible– I can ask all day, and they just keep sending me to the wrong one.”

“That must be trying,” Arum says, trying to sound more sympathetic than relieved. The man he met this evening was one of the other five Damiens among the guards. He had to be.

“Incredibly,” Amaryllis says. “Why do you want to know?”

“No reason.”

* * *

Ordinarily, Lord Arum waits entire weeks between his visits to the herbalist, but he can’t help boasting about his accomplishments.

“Amaryllis,” he declares, climbing down from the trees over her head. 

She glances up at him with a look of mild interest. It’s been years since the sudden appearance of monsters had any power to startle her. “Good morning, Arum. How’s the arm?”

“Better, but never mind that,” he says. “It’s finally bloomed. The shriekweed.” 

“It has?” Her eyes light up in that odd way he’s always been fond of. “Does it work?”

“That’s what I need you for.” His tail flicks proudly. “It certainly seems right to me, but I want to know if it sounds right to a human.” 

“Sure,” she says. “I can come take a look tomorrow–”

“No, it must be today. It has to be ready in time.”

She raises one eyebrow, and her enthusiasm is put aside for a moment. “In time for what, Arum?”

“I’ve planned a confrontation.”

“Right. And this wouldn’t have anything to do with that cut on your arm, would it?”

He bristles. “It might.”

“Of course it does.” She sighs. “You and your honor. I swear, you’re as bad as Damien some days.” By which she means _her_ Damien. Not the one with the poetry on his lips and the strangely monstrous eyes. “Alright. If it’s so important to you, I’ll come now.”

Amaryllis assured him that the shriekweed would be a powerful distraction, and she wasn’t wrong. The moment it catches the light, it wails like a dying human, and the little night goes pale. It hardly takes any effort to plant the idea in his head that the voice belongs to someone he knows, and then he breaks out running, a name on his lips.

Rilla. Such a strange name, and so oddly familiar. He’d wonder about that, but at the moment he’s too caught up in the sport of luring his honeysuckle into a trap– and then he’s caught up in something else altogether. All other thought leaves him, and if he was a less proud monster he would admit that he’s in over his head– at least until he hears another human approaching.

“You told someone we’d be out here?” he demands, and the little knight trembles like a flower in a breeze.

“That’s only my–” He pulls back, swallowing. “Rilla.”

“Damien!” she shouts in the distance, and Arum also recognizes that voice. All the warmth that flooded him before is gone.

Rilla. Amaryllis. Humans and their blighted nicknames.

Which means that this knight– his honeysuckle– is in love with her. Intends to marry her.

“I see. _Your Rilla_.”

It shouldn’t matter. Why should he care that the little knight is going to marry? After all, it’s only reasonable that he’d be paired off with someone as level-headed as the herbalist– the delicate little honeysuckle could use someone to keep him rooted. Not that the affairs of humans matter to him in the slightest– such things are beneath him.

It only reaffirms what he already knew: there is no future for him and the knight. Pretending otherwise is no more than a fairy tale, and he put those behind him long ago. If he clings to that delusion, it will destroy them both. If they give in and finish the duel properly, it will only destroy one. Simple arithmetic.

He arranges the terms of a third duel. He leaves before Amaryllis can arrive– and before she can see the way her fiancee is looking at him.

* * *

It’s a testament to Arum’s condition that he made such an oversight. It isn’t like him to make this kind of mistake. And regarding a human, no less.

His arithmetic was off. If he goes forward with this duel– if he kills Damien– then his life won’t be the only one destroyed. He’s seen the way Amaryllis looks when she speaks of her knight. He’s heard the way she speaks of him. If he dies, she’ll be devastated– and Arum can’t do that to her. He can’t.

If he surrenders, he knows Damien will spare him and brand himself a traitor– and drag Amaryllis down with him.

And if he manages to persuade Damien to kill him, then Amaryllis will spend the rest of her life knowing that her husband murdered her friend.

No matter how this end, she is hurt. And he knows she’ll survive– the herbalist is resilient as a weed when she needs to be– but she deserves better than this. He and Damien entered into this duel willingly. They set the terms. They know the consequences.

If this duel decides her future, then she deserves a say in how it plays out.

The jungle thins around him, and he can see her cottage among the younger trees. But something’s wrong. The door is ripped off its hinges. The window is shattered.

He bounds inside. Claw marks carve into the walls. Jars lay smashed– judging by the look of them, some of them were thrown. There’s blood on some of the shards– but not human blood.

He flicks out his tongue to taste the air, and instantly recognizes the stench: a monster who’s bought traps from him before. An old and reliable client, and one who set an order not long ago– in fact, his bladed ivy is nearly mature. On the floor is a scrap of purple silk: the same kind that had been his payment to Arum.

If he came early to pick up his order– if he saw Arum with Damien, or with Amaryllis– _if he hurt her–_

He reaches for two of the few unbroken jars, one full of fire sap, the other full of venom berries.

The duel will have to wait.

_He has a delivery to make._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> onegirlintheback asked:  
> Also, a sequel to the Arum/Rilla are friends fic where Arum puts the duel on hold to save Rilla!!! I need this OT3 man! I need it!
> 
> So this was written back when my assumption was that Arum lived within a reasonable distance from Rilla’s place. So…

Arum has to stop at the swamp to gather supplies– this isn’t the sort of monster that can be approached directly, not without pushing him to kill Amaryllis in the process. Arum will have to be careful. He’ll have to be sly.

So he outfits himself in weapons and armor and he harnesses one of his giant rats with his  _illustrious_ client’s order, and he sets out. The traps aren’t fully mature yet, but that’s no matter. The reduced weight will mean that he can move faster, and nobody but Arum could tell the difference, anyway. 

But even immature, the plants are heavy, even for such a large beast of burden, and the march is agonizingly slow. He tries to ward off his impatience by making plans– but all of those plans revolve around his client. He doesn’t even consider what he’ll do with a knight of the Queen. And when he hears the clomp of hoofbeats bearing down on him, he knows with sinking dread that that’s exactly who’s coming his way.

He grabs the rat by its lead and tries to draw it up the trunk of the nearest tree, to hide in the canopy until the humans pass. The damned thing is slow and stubborn. He grabs at it, yanking harder until it complies– but in his haste, he dislodges one of his knives. It tumbles, end over end, and embeds itself among the tree’s roots. 

The blade is too distinctive, the adamant too polished. The knights would have to be blind not to see it, and it will give away his position.

No. He won’t be caught up a tree like a fox.

He ties off the rat among the branches and dives back down to pull the knife from the ground. But just as his claws brush the embellished handle, he hears the twang of a bow. He manages to yank his hand away just in time to avoid an arrow through his hand. 

He knows without looking who tried to shoot him. 

Damien is on horseback already nocking another bow to the string. Riding behind him is another knight, a giant of a man who seems to dwarf even the enormous horse that he he rides. 

“Coward,” Damien snarls.

Arum bristles. How dare he–

But no. He doesn’t have time for this. He won’t let Amaryllis be hurt for the sake of his pride.

He turns with a dismissive gesture. “Are you upset that I missed our duel? We can always postpone.” Another arrow flits close enough to slice into his frill.

“Don’t turn away from me,” Damien says, drawing another arrow from his quiver. “Don’t you  _dare_ walk away.”

Arum’s eyes narrow. “Enough of this. I don’t have time for your games–”

“And I have no patience for yours.” The arrow is drawn back to a mouth that once spouted nonsensical poetry. Now those lips are drawn back to bare his teeth. The hatred in his eyes is almost as halting as the weapon in his hands. A day ago Arum would have sworn the man had feelings for him. Is this how fast the affections of humans change? “Answer me,  _beast_. What have you done with Rilla?”

Everything makes more sense and less all at once. “What have I–?”

“I swear on the saints, if you’ve hurt her–”

“I haven’t done anything to her,” Arum snaps. “But Baron Myber will, if he hasn’t already. Every minute he has her, she’s in danger, and that mea _ns I don’t have time for this._ ”

“Aha!” cries the giant. “Don’t think Sir Damien is going to fall for your cunning tricks! We aren’t so easily fooled as all that!” 

But there’s hesitation in Damien’s features. He wants to believe Arum.

The bowstring loses a fragment of its tension. “Explain yourself.” 

“What is there to explain?” Arum snaps. “Baron Myber took Amaryllis, and he’ll kill her if he gets the chance.”

“If you’re going to spin your lies, you’ll have to do better than that,” the giant declares.

But Damien is already lowering his bow. 

“Sir Damien! You can’t tell me you actually believe this nonsense!”

“I never told him her full name.” Damien’s eyes are still hard, but the hatred has left them.  “How do you know this?”

“There’s no–”

“Then explain while we go,” Damien says, and he replaces his bow over his shoulder. “But you  _will_ explain.”


End file.
